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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725951">Genesis As A Love Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust'>bexacaust</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Reminiscing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:00:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor stared out the wide window of the observatory-turned-homestead he and Brainstorm had spent the MTO’s final years in. The sky looked dark yet burning, the wind howled instead of whispered.</p>
<p>Something knocked at the door.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brainstorm/Perceptor (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Genesis As A Love Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>This is the eye of the hurricane, this is the only<br/>Way I can protect <strike>my</strike> <b>his </b>legacy…</em>
</p>
<p>Perceptor stared out the wide window of the observatory-turned-homestead he and Brainstorm had spent the MTO’s final years in. The sky looked dark yet burning, the wind howled instead of whispered.</p>
<p>Something knocked at the door.</p>
<p>They were scuffed and battered- lost and trembling.</p>
<p>They pleaded to be let in; their vocoder corroded and raspy and their hands worn down. Perceptor remained silent, tilting his helm and narrowing his good optic before he finally spoke.</p>
<p>“Why did you come here?”</p>
<p>“You saved one of us, once. You loved one of us, once. Please.”</p>
<p>His optic widened. He noticed the haphazard plating, the twitch of unfit cabling and beckoned the shivering form in before glaring into the cloying evening as it fell. The door shut like an executioner’s axe falling into the chopping block.</p>
<p>Like a guillotine hitting its mark.</p>
<p>They were an MTO, like Brainstorm had been. Born into the fires of the end of the war off an assembly line into a mission that was dead in the water. Off planet factories, hidden springs of life and hazards unknown and Perceptor handed them a fuel ration in silence.</p>
<p>“He called you the Least Warlike Autobot.”</p>
<p>“I was once known as that, yes.”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t think of anywhere safer to go when they raided the facility.”</p>
<p>Perceptor rested his chin on his own hands, thinking. Thinking to the times Brainstorm’s nightmares threw both their sparks into a death-tone spiral; thinking about the whispered confessions from a one time weaponsmaker, a coffin-filler.</p>
<p>“….How many of you are there.”</p>
<p>“Ten of us, the final half-batch.”</p>
<p>“Can you contact them.”</p>
<p>“…Yes, of course- they’re my unit, I-”</p>
<p>“Comm them, now. Give them these coordinates. Tell them to look for the observatory dome, and to come by cover of night.”</p>
<p>The mech looked at Perceptor in shock, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as The Least Warlike Autobot smiled tiredly.</p>
<p>“I did not love one of you once- I still love him. And this… This is something I will do, in his name. Because its the right thing to do. Because it’s what he’d want, I think.”</p>
<p>‘I want to make a DIFFERENCE, Percy!’, echoed in the sniper’s helm, ‘There has to be more than making assembly line weapons, assembly line people… Always war and more war- what about LIVING?’</p>
<p>And so, Perceptor took his place back at the wide, wide window to keep watch. Hours passed, he paced and fueled and calmed the nervous twitches of his new housemate.</p>
<p>The first one arrived in a clatter of unfamiliar wings and wide optics; the scorches of blaster-fire on his plating.</p>
<p>The second arrived with a limp- a cracked Autobrand and wobbling as they stood.</p>
<p>And then a third. A fourth. A ninth. A twelfth. </p>
<p>As days began to pass in blurs of color and sunlight Perceptor welcomed them with a quiet smile. Datapads were activated that had spent aeons in dim silence; lines of styluses slid over screens and there was clattering and clinking in the unused laboratory again.</p>
<p>They called him Sir, and their ranks grew.</p>
<p>They called him Commander, and their ranks grew.</p>
<p>And then, as Perceptor looked over the Observatory that had grown to house almost a hundred and thirteen MTOs from both sides of a broken war, he smiled his tired smile again.</p>
<p>“Call me Professor.”, he said softly, “Call me Professor; and call yourselves students. Scientists. Medics. Cybertronians.”</p>
<p>Word began passing around- to MTOs who feared going out in the daylight; to mechs who called themselves neutral but feared the gazes of old warriors.</p>
<p>And so, the ranks grew. The Observatory grew. The eyes of history turned their fickle gaze towards the one-time homestead as another construction project began.</p>
<p>As a sign, humble yet clean, was raised. As grounds were slowly acquired and purchased and cultured.</p>
<p>Genesis Academy.</p>
<p>The first ten graduated in a simple ceremony- no badges, no sashes, with only their fellow students and a few of their Professor’s friends in attendance. It was First Aid; shuttled in from medical duties scattered across broken galaxies, who painted the first new medic’s sigil upon the pauldron of the nervous First Graduate.</p>
<p>It was Minimus, chest puffed proudly as he saw his two newest apprentices bow low to him before taking the Oath of the New Accord.</p>
<p>It was Drift, soft-opticked for the first time since the war ended who greeted three brightly smiling mechs; packed and ready to follow him into the newly-budding cities as planners and guides.</p>
<p>Perceptor stood with a wide smile, flanked on either side by a new scientist and teacher.</p>
<p>The applause was soft, almost intimate. Perceptor adjusted the spectacles he now wore in place of his old reticule and his backstrut creaked. And then someone in the little crowd turned, and jogged towards the ‘entrance’ of the ‘campus’ grounds.</p>
<p>A dozen new faces, wary and nervous, looked back.</p>
<p>“Professor! New students!”</p>
<p>Perceptor glanced up, and stepped down from the short grandstand built for the small graduation. Rodimus greeted him at the gate with a debonair smile he hadn’t worn in longer than memory.</p>
<p>“I found some new faces, Perce. Got the room?”</p>
<p>Perceptor, as always, thought back to the first time Brainstorm slunk into the lab. Silent and shy and hesitant and wondering who would fire bitter words at him first.</p>
<p>“Always have room, Roddy. Always will. Welcome, students, to Genesis Academy. Let’s get you started.”</p>
<p>One of the faces twisted into disbelief, “But… But we’re CONS.”</p>
<p>Perceptor met their gaze, “Does that matter?”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“The answer is no.”, he continued,”This is Genesis Academy, this is MY academy. There are no Bots or Cons here- there are students, and today there are graduates. Come with me- there is a celebration to be had, and then we will begin studies in the morning.”</p>
<p>Twelve hesitant frames followed the sniper-turned-science teacher to the crowd of brighter faces and smiles. A bellow of recognition, a shriek of glee- Perceptor glanced over, seeing a second-stage student bowl a new arrival over with wordless joy.</p>
<p>“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, HALF THE UNIT’S COMMS WENT DOWN-”</p>
<p>Steps creaked as Perceptor rose to the grandstand again and faced the crowd.</p>
<p>“Welcome to the new students, and congratulations to our graduates!”, he said, his university-accented baritone carrying over the gathered Cybertronians, “To my graduates- It makes my spark jump its orbit to see how far you have come- battered and beaten but never broken, all the way to rank and title!”</p>
<p>Ten chestplates swelled in pride.</p>
<p>“I know, deep in my processor- that you will do us all proud. Every single one of us- even the ones who are not present.”</p>
<p>Perceptor cleared his throat, optic dimming.</p>
<p>“All I will ask of you, as a final assignment- do not forget. Do not forget what you saw, what you lived. Do not forgive needlessly, but do not carry grudges longer than you need them.”</p>
<p>A moment of silence, of helms tilted down in respect.</p>
<p>“Now, with my blessing- congratulations on completing your education under my tutelage.”</p>
<p>The First Graduate stepped forward, “A cheer for the Professor!”</p>
<p>Perceptor jumped slightly at the dull roar that rumbled over the grounds; surprise replaced with a fond smile as he swore he heard Brainstorm’s voice in the crowd.</p>
<p>And then, the heavy thud of Whirl and Cyclonus’s steps.</p>
<p>Perceptor froze, and then turned- curious and confused. The last two of his students stood proud and tired and each with one of Whirl’s claws on their shoulders.</p>
<p>“May I present, Sniproscope-”</p>
<p>“PROFESSOR, you mean.”</p>
<p>“Whatever, Percy. But may I present- the first Artisans of New Cybertron; certified by yours truly. And my mech- they have one hell of a final project for ya.”</p>
<p>Both students stepped forward, each bearing one side of a holoscreen projector display.</p>
<p>“Another cheer for the Professor!”, called the one on the left.</p>
<p>The roar returned, as expected.</p>
<p>“And three cheers for Brainstorm of Kimia!”</p>
<p>Perceptor’s spark froze as the projection flared to life….</p>
<p>“Hiya Perce.”</p>
<p>The hologram grinned, popping it’s mask off and showing a crooked smile Perceptor missed more than he could ever say. Holo-Brainstorm laughed weakly.</p>
<p>“I can feel my spark going, Perce. I can feel it. So I’m recording this for you, and hiding it where you won’t think to look until you need it- or until I’m needed again.”</p>
<p>Perceptor’s hand shakily went to cover his mouth, and Drift moved like a flash of snowfall to hold him steady.</p>
<p>“Ratch is gone, and I know it hurt you to say goodbye to him. I could see it in your optic- and I knew one day that look would come back when they lowered me down. Hopefully you remembered what I wanted after all the fancy stuff was done.”</p>
<p>The hologram snorted a laugh, “Fire me into the unknown, and all that.”</p>
<p>A cleared throat, and Holo-Brainstorm stood tall.</p>
<p>“But…. In the event my projector plans can be. Well. Deciphered….”</p>
<p>The students puffed their chests proudly.</p>
<p>“It didn’t hurt, Perceptor. I promise. It couldn’t- I was with you, and that was all I needed. I lived my life, full and grand as I wanted it to be….”</p>
<p>Brainstorm’s smile recreated far too accurately.</p>
<p>“Come here, Percy. I hope, if you’re seeing this, and it’s built the way it needs to be…. I hope this works.”</p>
<p>Perceptor walked forward slowly as the hologram opened its arms. He stepped into the embrace, expecting the buzz of electricity when those arms closed around him-</p>
<p>And then he didn’t.</p>
<p>Firm and so close to real it broke his spark as the tears he had swallowed down since the funeral dripped from his optic- feeling Brainstorm’s faceplates against neckcables.</p>
<p>“I love you, Percy. Don’t close yourself away, okay?”, the hardlight hologram whispered, “There’s still so much to do in a brand new world.”</p>
<p>A soft laugh.</p>
<p>“Maybe start a school or somethin’. You always had a knack for teaching hard lessons… Sometimes with a whack to the helm. I gotta go now, I can hear you upstairs settling into the berth after making it again. I’ll see you on the other side one day; but not too soon, got it?”</p>
<p>A last squeeze, and the hum of the hardlight projection faded away like stardust.</p>
<p>The first new Artisan stepped forward.</p>
<p>“I was able to find most of the plans he hid away, Professor. I… If you grant your blessing, I can-”</p>
<p>“Build them all.”, whispered Perceptor, “Every last one of them. Put them in the world. For me. For him.”</p>
<p>The second New Artisan stepped forward, pulling a datapad from their subspace with what looked like a added memory drive, “I wasn’t much help with the building- but… here at the academy, I learned to love. Well. Writing. And I want to show you the first new title for New Cybertron.”</p>
<p>Perceptor held out his hands, breathing deep and taking the datapad and tapping the screen. It hummed softly to life.</p>
<p>“Genesis As A Love Story In Equations - Or, The Biography of Brainstorm of Kimia; and the Memoirs of His Conjunx and Fellow Crewmates.”, read Perceptor, his voice breaking softly as the words flowed out.</p>
<p>An awkward laugh, “It’s… a clunky title, but. I still have some drafting to do.”</p>
<p>Perceptor looked up, optic blurry and Drift’s hand on his shoulder strong and comforting.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”, he whispered, “From myself…. and Brainstorm. Don’t let them forget him.”</p>
<p>“I won’t- WE won’t.”, was the answer, “He was OUR Genesis; he was the First of us.”</p>
<p>Perceptor exvented softly, his optic closing peacefully as the final words passed from his processor to his spark.</p>
<p>
  <em>“He’ll never, ever be left behind again.”</em>
</p>
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